


out of the woods

by shirogiku



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, F/M, Lord Harry, M/M, Party like it's the 1950s, Plot What Plot, Pre-Canon, Rape, Season/Series 04, Swearing, Violence, Werewolf Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Please carefully read the warnings.)</p><p>A precious couple of hours away from the transformation, they are playing Russian Roulette with their dicks on the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [non_canonical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_canonical/gifts).



> Disclaimer: _Being Human_ belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

“What’re you doing here, dickhead?” Fergus blocks the doorway and Cutler glares at him, trying to see over his shoulder. The noises and the smells… And that’s definitely Hal’s laughter, the unhinged ring to it pulling at Cutler’s insides.

 

Cutler schools his expression into a wry smile. “I didn’t know we had a sex torture chamber.”

 

Fergus answers sweetly, “No, _that_ would be your bedroom – or wherever he screws you brainless. Now sod off.”

 

Cutler swallows a sharper retort and goes for, “It’s just I didn’t realise there had been a change of plans. I thought…”

 

The exact moment Fergus ceases paying attention, Cutler ducks past him and pitches forward into the poorly lit, dingy basement.  At the centre there’s a woman strapped to a long table, thrashing violently against the restraints.

 

“Oi, dicksplash!” Fergus’s hand inexorably lands on Cutler’s shoulder but Cutler’s too busy blinking at the scene that’s unfolding in front of him.

 

They’ve been taking turns with her. Some unfamiliar faces – Cutler supposes he should be thankful Dennis and Louis aren’t present, all things considered.

 

Cutler already knows Hal enjoys a spot of rough and tumble, as Hal calls it – which could mean any number of things – but not something so… _icky_.

 

And indeed no one is having more fun than Hal, his bare chest sweaty, hair wild and eyes even wilder, shining with excitement.

 

Cutler purses his lips in distaste and whispers to Fergus, “What’s this, then?”

 

Fergus snorts derisively. “A lyco.” He gives Cutler the eye. “I’d pass if I were you.”

 

Cutler sputters, “What! I wouldn’t-” He finally catches on: a precious couple of hours away from the transformation, they are playing Russian Roulette with their dicks on the line.

 

Cutler’s lips remain parted in astonishment and his gaze drifts to the long muscles of Hal’s back, glistening obscenely. Hal’s been firing up for the next round.

 

Behind Hal’s tightly wound, controlled façade, Cutler sometimes catches glimpses of a different Hal, vicious but playful. Cutler would have liked to keep the sight private, reserved for and evoked by himself alone.

 

Hal enters the woman – the _lyco_ – again and again, slow, feathery motions, hard, punishing thrusts – and Cutler winces every bloody time. The blokes cheer and make inane comments.

 

Cutler shrugs Fergus off and circles round to get a closer look, absurdly checking for rash or blood or any damage at all. Over the torturous next few minutes, Hal’s dick becomes Cutler’s greatest concern.

 

Finally, Hal spills into her and pulls out, immediately turning to face his audience with a victorious grin, his eyes glazed over.

 

But not for long.

 

Hal fixes Cutler with a sharp look, like a shark catching the scent of blood. He clamps his hand over Cutler’s shoulder, without bothering to zip up his trousers.

 

The lyco is writhing and screaming her lungs out.

 

“Cutler.” Hal’s breath is warm and bitter with whiskey and tobacco. “How dreadfully nice of you to join us.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Would you care to have a go? Out of turn.” He says it like _he_ ’s being nice too.

 

Cutler glances surreptitiously at the lyco’s fingers: he could swear those are more claws than nails already.

 

“Um, no, thank you.” Cutler takes a step back.  “I’ve just remembered I had some urgent-”

 

Hal holds him in a vice-like grip. “And whyever not?” Hal raises an eyebrow. “You’re not _afraid_ , are you?” Hal’s forehead creases in mock concern.

 

Fergus chimes in, “Oh come on, your lordship, give the tosser a break, he hasn’t got the guts.”

 

Hal draws closer, pressing his palm to Cutler’s stomach and saying in that breathy, ingratiating voice, “Don’t you, Cutler?”

 

Cutler’s jaw flexes. It dawns on him that the more he puts off the inevitable, the lesser his chance to avoid castration by lyco.

 

Cutler forces through his teeth, loathingly, “Fine. _Fine._ ”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Hal steers him towards the table, patting his back.

 

She looks disgusting. How is Cutler supposed to get it up?

 

Hal’s palms Cutler through the fabric of his trousers and that’s how. A moan gets caught at the back of Cutler’s throat. Hal undoes Cutler’s trousers and steps aside, his arms crossed. He is watching.

 

Culter looks down and makes the mistake of meeting the lycos’ eyes – the helpless hatred, the silent plea – he nearly gags on it.

 

Hal frowns and Cutler rushes to sheathe himself inside. She’s hot like a furnace and she bucks under him uncontrollably. Cutler earns a round of sniggers and hoots - and there he’s almost forgotten it isn’t just him and Hal.

 

Cutler is scared to death. It feels fantastic.

 

The grin returns to Hal’s lips, spurring Cutler on better than words.

 

Not caring what he looks like, Cutler just moves and prays mindlessly that her bones don’t start rearranging themselves just yet.

 

Hal steps directly behind him and puts his hands on Cutler’s hips, as though to make sure he doesn’t chicken out, and that’s insulting.  But then Hal squeezes Cutler’s buttocks and Cutler might have to guess again.

 

“What-,” Cutler mutters breathlessly. Hal yanks Cutler’s trousers down all the way and - oh no no no is he—

 

“Fucking unbelievable,” Cutler manages and he’s fairly certain Fergus has also muttered something along those lines.

 

Hal leans to Cutler’s ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

Cutler arches his back, impaling himself on the dick he’s been so concerned about. Cutler’s going to have nightmares about this night.

 

He hears the distinctive crunch and Hal thrusts into him in a frenzy and this is it, they’re going to tear something inside the lyco and-

 

Cutler shrieks in unison with the woman and nearly passes out from the intensity of his climax. Hal drags him away, their bodies still locked and slams him into the nearest wall.

 

Cutler would have appreciated _not_ having his face pressed into the smelly old paint. It’s taking Hal another forever to finish or so it seems in Cutler’s over-sensitized state.

 

Hal’s burrowed deep into Cutler’s body and tiniest jerks and stretches resonate through Cutler’s frayed nerves, magnified to an unbearable, bone-deep, sumptuous ache. Hal’s motions speak of nothing but Cutler’s all-consuming hunger.

 

“You’ve done well,” Hal whispers when it’s over and Cutler starts laughing.


End file.
